The thought whips through me so rapidly, leaving with me so much whiplash that when my phone buzzes and I see my mother’s name, I don’t ignore the call like I should.
“Excuse me,” I tell the girls and head out into the back yard, swiping my finger across the phone to answer the call. “Hey, Mom,” I say as I look out at the view of Oak Ridge Vineyards, the rust and orange-colored leaves on the grape vines colorful dots on the rolling hills in the distance.
“I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”
I blink, refocus. “What?”
“Well,” she sniffs. “You never call and most of the time you don’t even pick up whenIdo.”
When our talks go so well?I feel like asking.Why could I possibly want to avoid you?
Instead, I rub at the throb in my temple. “How’s work going? Did you finish up the project for your boss?”
“I did and she was quite pleased with it.”
“Quite pleased?”
“Yes.” She exhales. “She didn’t mind that I spent all those extra hours in the office.”
I bet my mom’s boss didn’t mind that. At all.
Especially since my mom is on salary and doesn’t get anything extra for working eighty-plus hours a week.
“I’m glad it went well,” I say instead of bringing up the fact that she’s a corporate pawn. “And how’s Dad?”
“The same as always,” she says proudly.
Which means he’s at work for a twelve hours a day and the only times they see each other are when my mom heats a plate of dinner up for him.
“What about you?” she asks. “Have you finished your nonsense with the nannying thing and gotten a real job yet?”
“Mom,” I say on a sigh. “It’s not athing. It’s my job.”
She tsks but doesn’t argue.
On that front, anyway.
“And the blankets? The craft fairs?”
“What about them, Mom?”
“Why are you still wasting your time on them?”
I close my eyes. “I’m not wasting my time. I like making my blankets, and I sell them for good money.”
“Money you wouldn’t need if you had a real job.”
There it is.
I sigh, but don’t bother to try and justify my choices. She doesn’t care—and she won’t ever understand.
And…nothing I love is ever going to be enough for her, forthem.
“I don’t know why you’re being so goddamned stubborn. If you just applied yourself and went back to school, she could be a usual member of society instead of this nonsense life you continue to live…” She keeps going and by the time she’s done ranting at me and I hang up, I’m barely holding it together.
I just want to go home, crawl into bed, and draw the covers up and over my head.
I just want to pretend she—they—support me. Love me.
